


♊

by boychik



Category: Chobits, Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boychik/pseuds/boychik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in one world, she has a mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	♊

in one world, she has a mother.

she’s crisp and clean and  
dressed in white.  
her hugs smell like  
soap and cinnamon.  
her eyes hold the  
cosmos and infinite kindness.

when her mother says  
_i’m so happy you’re my child, elda!_  
with just the sound of her name from  
her mother’s lips

_elda!_

she feels a liquid rush as if  
insects are breaking  
free from the melting amber  
cage in the center of her  
chest to her mouth, where they  
erupt in an uncontrollable  
laugh, like they’re  
bursting to see the sun.

elda has a sister.  
they comb each other’s soft long hair and  
braid it into plaits. touching each other’s hair  
triggers a response in their  
fingertips that travels at  
lightspeed to the circuitboard and  
lights it up like sparklers and  
kisses and fireflies. it  
feels so lovely against their  
smooth, synthetic fingertips.  
elda’s hair never grows, but  
neither does freya’s.

when they go out together  
strangers are always inclined to  
comment.  
they’re so beautiful, they  
say to chitose. twins?  
elda’s mother shakes her  
head, smiles. no, not  
twins. but they are  
beautiful.

by the time she’s sixteen,  
freya is gone.  
save her heart, elda is alone.  
hey baby, strangers are  
inclined to comment.  
they call out from their  
cars, they sing to her in  
ugly voices when she’s at  
the grocery store, picking  
just the right carrots for  
her mother’s soup.  
hey beautiful. when are  
you going to marry me?

keep your head down, said  
freya. it’s not easy to  
disappear, but it is possible.

 

 

 

 

in another world, she has a father.

they live in a world of snow  
where the chill sinks into the very  
marrow of their bones but  
with him she is so warm.

when he smiles, she feels  
light as a feather.  
when she tells him this, he  
smiles again, slow and warm.  
as it should be, he  
says, as if amused.  
she doesn’t ask why.

children break off pieces of  
icicles from the high arches of the  
houses of celes.  
shouting, red-cheeked, they  
challenge each other to duel.  
their icicles glint in the  
light of the setting sun and  
for a moment  
they are real.

her father never spoke of his  
childhood, chained in the dark with  
no way to grow strong enough to  
scale the towers or feel the  
light of day on his skin or  
have a dream that wasn’t a  
nightmare.

he never spoke of the  
nights that were so cold that  
each breath was a dagger  
congealed and hardened in his throat.  
every night he cried and  
hated himself for it, knew that he  
deserved every moment of this  
timeless frozen hell.

he never spoke of the  
days he felt pale as snow and  
fragile as an icicle  
days before the spring.

he never spoke of the  
visions of another boy  
_(almost him)_ that  
ripped through the cosmic reaches of  
his mind, a mind black and  
alone. and so chii  
never thought of the other world.  
never thought of freya.

she doesn’t know because  
his smile is like sunshine  
trapped in his heart and  
spilling out on his face.

you will keep watch for me  
while i’m away, won’t you,  
chii? he asks and  
she feels like all the  
glaciers in the celes  
should melt from the force of  
his lazy, radiant smile.

she nods even though  
if he leaves  
there will be nothing left  
but celes, like white  
ashes in his wake.


End file.
